Ransom Page 13

  Amir smiled cynically. “Lahitraot.”

  The use of Aryeh’s parting word to Gideon indicated his conversation with Gideon had been wiretapped. “I’ll do my part. You make sure you take care of yours.”

  Amir shouted and the men who’d transported him returned. A sack again covered his head, and he was lead from the room.

  They left him at the Starbucks where they’d picked him up. He took a taxi back to his hotel room.

  »»•««

  Aryeh’s room was intact, no breach, no entry, or disturbance.

  It was two a.m., but the ever-alert Ramsad picked up on the first ring. Aryeh gave him a concise report. The Ramsad listened without interruption. When Aryeh finished, the Ramsad spoke.

  “We need to coordinate this with Cyrus and the team. We need to find out where they’re assembling the missiles. Zara may hold the key.”

  “I’ll speak with her today. See if she’s heard from Mustafa.” He was worried about Zara, her cover now blown, and her life in danger.

  “My gut instinct is Mustafa is involved with the EMP plot, he may even be the big macher directing the EMP operation. I’ll speak to the prime minister about the prisoner exchange. Oh, did I mention we found the mole.”

  “Bingo. Great news. Who is he?”

  “He was. We found him dead. The murderer tried to make it look like the young man murdered his Palestinian girlfriend and then turned the gun on himself. Forensics didn’t buy it for a minute. We suspect blackmail. It’s a tragedy. The boy held promise. We’re not releasing any information on it. We’ll notify the parents of his death, but not the circumstances. It will serve no one.”

  “I need to huddle with Cyrus and the team. We need to coordinate, and he needs to know Nasrallah is on to him.”

  “Careful.” The Ramsad always told him to be careful even though he knew Aryeh was expert at spotting a tail and losing it. He also knew Aryeh never took chances when it came to discovery.

  “Yes, Aba.”

  The Ramsad chuckled. “You are a pain in my tuckus. Remember you mustn’t be seen with anyone from the team.”

  “No need to worry fearless leader. Cyrus and I will figure something out. Between the two of us, we could probably thread the eye of a needle blindfolded.”

  »»•««

  Baalbek, Lebanon

  Cannabis Farm

  Mustafa had stopped communicating with Nasrallah when he arrived at the cannabis farm where the building of the missiles was taking place. The use of cell phones was forbidden. It was crucial for the security of the operation. The two-story building had at one time been a greenhouse, but in the recent months it had been remodeled by Hezbollah and reconstructed into an assembly plant and rocket launch facility. From the outside, it remained ordinary, but in the inside it was state-of-the-art.

  Mustafa observed activities below from a second story catwalk bordering the circumference of the building. From the ground, space was open to the ceiling. Workers, physicists, and engineers worked below. Everything was proceeding as planned, but Mustafa was still bothered. Not about the staging for the EMP delivery system, or the danger of loading the nuclear payload. He was upset over his conversation with Nasrallah. The secretary general had informed him he suspected Zara was a spy. Mustafa had already intuited the possibility and wasn’t surprised by it. After all, a journalist meeting with the supreme leader was unusual. What was strange was his reaction. He found the knowledge had only intensified his attraction to her.

  It set the stage and provided a landscape of intrigue and desire. A cat and mouse game with sexual overtones. Zara had become a prize for him to win, a challenge he couldn’t resist. He was compelled by the mystery surrounding her, it made him want to see how close to the fire he could get without getting burned, but the missile assembly operation would require extra precautions. He would never allow a woman to take down his operation or interfere with his plan. An extra layer of security would need implementing. More boots on the ground to protect a mission nearing completion. One layer of subterfuge employed seemed to be working. The nuclear physicists and engineers held at the hotel in Beirut were merely actors. The real scientists and experts had been flown in by private jet and immediately transported to the cannabis farm and put to work upon arrival. Staying one step ahead of any possible surveillance or breach in security by Mossad or the CIA was crucial to the outcome.

  In the meantime, there was nothing for him to accomplish at the cannabis farm. He was anxious to see Zara again. He knew he was becoming obsessive about her, but he believed he held the winning cards to control her.

  »»•««

  Beirut, Lebanon

  Cyrus sat in the computer center at the safe house with Elon and Ash watching a live newsfeed coming out of Israel. The United States, France, and Britain were carrying out bombing raids in Syria in response to their use of chemical weapons on women and children. A scientific research facility in Damascus, a chemical weapons storage facility west of Homs and another command post near Homs were targeted and destroyed. There were unconfirmed reports of auxiliary targets hit, a military base near Dimas, army depots in Qalamoun, and a base near Kiswah where Iran was believed to be building a base. In the prior weeks, Israel had carried out airstrikes, hitting a Syrian airbase being used by Iran to launch drone strikes against Israel.

  Ash whistled. “Look at the fireworks. The mullahs aren’t going to be too happy about the Western devils spoiling their fun in Syria. Soleimani is going to sprout a lot more gray hair, don’t you think?”

  Cyrus wasn’t as thrilled as the team’s sniper. “It’s going to put a lot more pressure on Hezbollah to retaliate. Sure enough, within minutes, Hassan Nasrallah released a braggadocio statement, “The forces of the resistance today have the ability, the power, and the missiles to hit any target in Israel.” It was a threat resounding with clarity in both Tel Aviv and the Beirut safe house. Cyrus knew there was only one acceptable outcome, the destruction of Hezbollah’s nascent nuclear threat. Nothing but complete eradication regardless of the cost or loss of life on either side was acceptable.

  “Jeez, I’d love to get that monster in my riflescope sights,” mumbled Ash under his breath.

  “What we need is to find where they’re building those damned rockets before it’s too late.” Cyrus’s hand scrubbed his bearded cheek. He was feeling impotent, and frustrated by the lack of progress with the mission. Inactivity had his thoughts straying to Layla, and he couldn’t afford to be distracted by his worry for her.

  “At least the North Koreans haven’t moved from the hotel, so there can’t be too much going on yet,” Ash added.

  Cyrus looked at Ash as if he was a savant. Of course, they hoodwinked us.

  “What? Did I say something wrong.” Ash asked, seeing the change come over Cyrus’s face.

  “No. You said something right.” He swiveled his chair to Elon. “Tell Nira and Ben to forget the Koreans and report back here.”

  Elon’s brow wrinkled. “Why? What’s up?”

  “Those Koreans are planted. They’re being staged to throw off any surveillance. I need to talk to Aryeh, face to face. What do you suggest, Elon?”

  “We use the drop box and arrange a surreptitious meeting outside, somewhere safe.”

  “What like a Turkish steam bath?”

  “Might work.” Elon grinned. “Kind of like a James Bond novel.”

  “Do it.” His thoughts strayed to Layla, which he was apt to do. “By the way, has headquarters sent you any photos of the bastard who blew up the bus?”

  Elon cocked his head. “What are you psychic. I’m just uploading a complete dossier now.”

  Cyrus pulled up a chair beside Elon. “Load them up. I want to see them.”

  Elon hit some keys, and a series of photos cropped from video footage appeared on the screen. Next to the photos scrolled all pertinent information known about the terrorist. Cyrus studied the photos, committing the man’s face to memory. “No matter what, I’m not leaving
Lebanon without killing this animal.”

  Ash leaned over his shoulder. “Please, boss, let me be the instrument of your revenge?”

  “Believe me, Ash, it would be my pleasure. I don’t care who gets him so long as he’s dead.”

  “Do you want me to print everything for you?” Elon asked.

  “No, make sure I can get into it with my phone. I want Aryeh to see him. As for me, I won’t forget his face until he’s dead.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Beirut, Lebanon

  Mustafa had texted Zara last night he was returning to Beirut and would like to meet her for lunch if she could pull herself away from her computer. She’d feigned an overwhelming amount of work but finally acquiesced. She agreed to meet him at Martyr’s Square in front of the Al-Amin mosque. She wore a tailored mint green pantsuit with matching pashmina and wedged sandals. Dark sunglasses and a hat completed the look. She’d chosen to walk to Café Em Nazih, a garden restaurant known for its lovely setting and privacy.

  She paused in the middle of the square to remove her pashmina. It was warm, and it gave her an excuse to look around. She’d spotted a tail a few blocks back when she stopped at a shop window. Inconspicuously she checked to see if the tail was still there. Nothing caught her eye, but she was in a large public square with a hundred or more people milling around. It would be easy to keep a distance and still keep her in view. She sighed. It didn’t matter whether she was being followed, there was nothing secretive about meeting Mustafa in broad daylight.

  She scanned the square again for Mustafa when someone came up behind her and whispered in her ear. “Looking for someone?”

  She whirled. “Mustafa!” His beard was gone, and his dark wavy hair trimmed neatly. Mustafa looked to be a prosperous businessman wearing a suit and tie. He was a dead ringer for a model on the cover of GQ magazine. She couldn’t see his eyes behind his sunglasses, but he grinned at her, his teeth blindingly white in the sunshine.

  He continued to grin enjoying her startled gaze.

  “You look different…I…” Was it possible she was at a loss for words? He was much better looking than she remembered.

  “It’s my disguise. Westerner. What do you think?”

  “I wouldn’t recognize you.”

  He frowned. “Are you saying you’re not too keen on the way I normally look.”

  “No. It doesn’t matter to me one way or the other. But yes, I’ll grant you it’s a good disguise.”

  His smile grew. “I love when you do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “Hide from the chemistry between us. Pretend you feel nothing.”

  “I don’t deny it, Mustafa. I’m just putting it in a proper perspective.” She looked around the square. “Are you taking me to lunch or not?”

  “I most certainly am.” He opened his arm with a flourish indicating she lead the way. It was a fifteen-minute walk to the restaurant, and the weather was delightful. They strolled along George Haddad Street, their conversation no more serious than the beauty of the day and their looking forward to spring. They looked to be no different than any other well-dressed couple they passed.

  Everything seemed light and airy until they came to an intersection at Youssef Hani Road. Mustafa’s phone rang in his pocket. He reached for it, pausing mid-step. Zara looked back at him and stepped off the curb. A screech of tires and the roar of an engine drowned out every other sound. A car was barreling toward her, and she froze. In the blink of an eye, her life played out before her like a B-rated movie. She was going to die just as she’d lived. Alone. Roadkill. The car was aimed at her as if fired from the muzzle of a gun. A bullet intended for her sped toward her. There would be nothing to recall. Every minute of her existence was in a file some office clerk would bury in a drawer, barely glancing at the description: Zara Zayani, TOP-SECRET.

  She closed her eyes and said a silent prayer. Strong arms grabbed her, and she fell backward to the ground. She heard a groan and the sound of the vehicle racing past at such a speed she felt a whoosh of air when it passed.

  She felt her lungs fill with oxygen and opened her eyes to the blue sky above. She was alive. She was lying on top of Mustafa who was cursing.

  “Shit! What the hell just happened?”

  “I’m not sure. That car tried to run me down.” She rolled to the side and placed her hand on his chest. “Are you okay?”

  His clutched his side and grimaced. “I think I’m just bruised and had the wind knocked out of me.” He raised his head and squinted in the direction of where the car had headed. He’d lost his sunglasses, and the squinting produced fine lines around his eyes. “Someone tried to kill you. That was a premeditated hit.”

  She nodded.

  He reached back and touched the back of his head, wincing. When his fingers came away, they were smeared with blood.

  “You’re bleeding, Mustafa. You need medical attention.”

  “I’ll be fine. What I need is to get my bearings and clear my head.” His eyes looked dilated, and he shook his head confirming her diagnosis.

  “Forget about the restaurant. Let’s grab a taxi and go to my place, and I’ll take care of your nasty cut.” She opened her purse and grabbed some tissue and handed them to him.

  He sat up and pressed the tissues to the back of his head. “Okay. I’ve lost my appetite anyway.”

  »»•««

  Zara cleaned the gash on Mustafa’s scalp and then applied antiseptic. Gently she adhered a band-aid to his cut. He’d sat quietly on the toilet seat cover while she ministered to him. She raised his chin and met his gaze. “You and I may see the world differently, but you saved my life. Thank you.”

  He rose towering over her, smiling down at her. He took her hands in his, kissing one and then the other. She didn’t pull away. It was endearing the way he showed his affection. “You’re welcome.”

  She was glad he didn’t say more. She wanted to pretend for a little while longer he wasn’t who he was and she wasn’t who she was. She wanted to hate him, but he’d saved her life.

  It was quiet, and she realized they were alone, by the way he gazed at her he realized it too. “Maybe we should eat something. Would you like some lunch? I can whip something up.”

  “I’d like that.” He was behaving like a gentleman, and she found it disconcerting. It would be better for her if he displayed more coldness, more aggressiveness, more selfishness.

  She opened a bottle of red wine and filled two glasses. She handed one to him, but he refused. “You know I don’t drink. The other night was an exception.”

  “I’m not taking no for an answer. You need to relax, and a little wine will suppress the pain. Besides, I need a glass, and I don’t want to drink alone.”

  He took the wineglass from her and took a sip. “It’s good.”

  “It’s French. Of course, it’s good.”

  He leaned against the counter watching her layer a baguette with sliced figs, cheese, and escarole. She whisked some vinaigrette in a bowl and poured it on top and cut it in half, placing each half on a plate. She paired the sandwich with tabbouleh salad and set the plates on the table.

  Mustafa sat beside her and took her hand and pressed his lips to her fingers. “Thank you.”

  She didn’t pull away, and they gazed into one another’s eyes for several seconds. “You saved my life. A baguette couldn’t possibly equal saving my life.”

  “Watching you make it for me did.”

  “Don’t be silly, I made it as much for me, mon ami. It seems near death experiences make me hungry.” She took a bite and smiled with satisfaction. “Would you care to enlighten me as to who called you at the exact moment that I stepped off the curb? I think we can agree it’s rather suspicious.”

  His eyes darkened. “I don’t know, but I intend to find out. I can’t believe how close I came to losing you.”

  She laughed. “I think you would have survived losing me just fine. Someone is clearly not happy with our friendship. They probably
believe I’m a threat to you. Which makes me a threat to them.”

  “You may be right. But God has put you in my path for a reason.” The lowness of his tone was like a caress. “I do not believe in chance. When we collided, and you left, I was driven to know more about you. I admit what I felt was a physical attraction, but it’s grown into something else since then. It’s as if Allah chose you for me.”

  She felt the color rise to her cheeks and looked away. “You don’t know what you want or what Allah’s plan is. You’ve never met another woman like me. You’ve told me you’ve never known passion or been in love. You’re like a child who wasn’t invited to the party. You just feel like you missed something. I could have been any woman.”

  He dismissively waved her words away. “I’m surprised at you Zara. Someone as intelligent as you should be able to see this is about us and no one else. No other woman has ever had this effect on me.”

  “We are unsuitable Mustafa. We live in different worlds.”

  “What does it matter who we’ve been or what we are? The only thing we should care about is what we’ll be together. I know you think it’s impossible but when you ran into me, everything changed. It felt like magic. I knew we were meant for each other. Without knowing it, I’ve been waiting my whole life for you.”

  “You’re right; I don’t believe you. What is it you want from me? Am I the forbidden fruit you can’t resist?”

  “I could out-and-out deny it, but the truth is I don’t know. Perhaps it’s part of what I’m feeling, but I know what I feel when we talk,” Mustafa shook his head and smiled. “Even arguing with you makes me feel alive. We can’t always choose who we love, Zara.”

  He was right. Zara felt her own heart staging a rebellion. She was attracted to him, and no matter how she tried she couldn’t shove it under the rug. “You’d be better off looking elsewhere for love. I can only bring you trouble. You shouldn’t be blind to the truth.”

  “I have never run from trouble, and I don’t intend to do it now. I’m not afraid of the truth even it reveals I’ve been wrong.”